


wedding bell blues

by wildaloofrebel



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: M/M, as a treat, we can have a little angst with a happy ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-03
Updated: 2020-03-03
Packaged: 2021-02-23 03:15:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23004856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wildaloofrebel/pseuds/wildaloofrebel
Summary: Wedding planning begins to take it's toll on Patrick and David.Mostly inspired by the little bit of tension in last week's episode.
Relationships: Patrick Brewer/David Rose
Comments: 9
Kudos: 174





	wedding bell blues

The sight of his front door had honestly never been more welcome. The day had been long and busy and filled with annoying customers who had all seemed to have made a pact amongst themselves to ask Patrick a hundred questions each that he really couldn’t have helped them with if he’d had a thousand years to work on his answers. He ached to his bones and he missed David, so as he struggled to get his key in the lock he wanted nothing more than to pass out on the couch.

When he closes the door behind him though the couch is, naturally, covered with wedding invitations and his fiancé.

“Hey,” he said, happy to see David sat with his legs crossed under him, but the prospect of wedding talk filling his already exhausted body with a little dread.

“Hey,” David glanced up, face lit with a smile as he took in Patrick. “I’ve narrowed it down to two,” he said, gesturing to the two invitations closest to him.

“The store was very busy, and I’ve barely had time to breathe all day, thanks for asking,” he grinned, kissing David’s cheek as soon as he was close enough, sitting on the edge of the coffee table that wasn’t covered in wedding magazine or lists or photos that David had found.

“Funny,” David shook his head, then nodded towards the cards in front of him. “Which one do you like?”

“You want a beer?” Patrick asked, ignoring David’s question with his own. He pushed himself off the table and made his way to the kitchen.

“I’m good,” David said, eyes fixing back onto the samples in front of him. “You know, I had a productive day too.”

“Yeah?” he asked as he grabbed a bottle out of the fridge, uncapping it with the bottle opener magnet David hated.

“Yes; I finally picked the right flowers, I managed to talk a photographer down to a very reasonable price, and a venue is getting back to me about dates tomorrow.”

“You did all that?” he breathed, taking in David’s slightly smug expression and hoping the _without me_ caught in his throat wouldn’t slip out.

“Uh-huh,” David waved him over and dragged him onto the couch by his elbow when he was within reach. “Which one do you like?”

“I get an opinion?”

“Obviously. It’s your wedding too.”

“It is?” he asked, probably more pointedly than he had intended. “I wasn’t even sure if I was invited anymore.”

“What does that mean?” David asked, staring him fiercely in the eyes and frowning.

“Nothing,” he sighed.

“No, tell me.”

This seemed to be happening more often recently, the snapping, the sighing, the challenging of the other to take it further. Neither of them had accepted that challenge yet; usually, they laughed it off, made some stupid joke until the tension ebbed away with a bitten tongue as quickly as it had built. Today, though, Patrick had been on his feet all day and David had continued to make decisions without even thinking of including him, and he felt the tension boil over.

“I just meant, I’ve barely been involved in any of the plans so far, why change now?”

“If you think you can plan a whole fucking wedding by yourself, go ahead,” he said, a quiet anger in his voice that Patrick hadn’t heard before, an anger that lit his eyes and stared Patrick right in the face. “You can start by picking an invitation.”

“Fine,” he said, hating that he was the first to look away. He studied the samples laid out in front of them, acutely aware of David’s glare probably trying to set him on fire, and promptly picked a hideous pale yellow invitation with royal blue writing that he knew David would hate. “This one,” he said, holding it up and revelling in the look of pure disgust lining David’s face. “What? You told me to pick one.”

“Out of the two that I have spent almost three hours selecting.”

“Well, I like this one,” he said, committing to the lie just to enjoy his fiancé’s face as it turned red.

“Well, that’s possibly the ugliest thing I’ve ever seen,” David snapped, his voice rising as he manoeuvred over Patrick's lap and off the couch.

“Well,” Patrick said, matching David’s volume, “then why was it an option?”

“It wasn’t,” his voice grew louder, and before he spoke again, he took a steadying breath, “I don’t know why you have to be so difficult with this stuff.”

“I’m not being difficult, I was -”

“Condescending, then,” David corrected before Patrick could say anything else. “I spend practically all day every day making these choices and you just sweep in and shit all over them.”

“Do you honestly think that?”

“I do,” he said, crossing his arms and looking remarkably like a child throwing a tantrum – a comparison he would, of course, never tell David of.

“Or do you think that, maybe, you just don’t like it when I have an opinion that differs to yours?”

“No, I don’t think that,” he huffed. “Do you ever think that, maybe, you just have incorrect opinions?”

“There it is; it’s always someone else that’s wrong, right?” David didn’t answer, he just rolled his eyes and that somehow pissed Patrick off more than an insult would have. “You’re just so spoilt, David.”

“I don’t think a spoilt person would be planning your wedding for you.”

“Let’s not pretend that any of this has been for me.”

“It has! It’s _our_ wedding.”

“If it’s our wedding, which part has been for me?” he shouted. “The massive ceremony that almost none of my family are invited to? Or the tanning? Or -”

“I apologised for that like a thousand times! I just wanted you to look nice for the pictures.”

“Can you imagine how you would feel if I told you I wanted you to change something about the way you look so you would look good in our engagement photos?”

“That’s not what I did, that’s not fair.”

“Sure, David.”

“Also, it’s very like you to wait a few days until you can bring it up in an argument before you get upset about it.”

“That’s what you think I’m like?”

“It’s not _not_ what you’re like.”

And it just went on, and on, and on, until they were both red-faced and panting and even then, it went on a little longer. Every grievance either of them had ever had seemed to suddenly be the perfect way to press exactly the button that would set the other off just as they wanted to.

As Patrick leaned against the back of the couch, David had made his way over to the bed, curling his legs up and resting his chin on his knees. He looked so aberrantly small, so heartbreakingly sad, that Patrick itched to cross the room, close the space until there was nothing between them, to hold David as gently as he deserved until it was all better.

But he couldn’t do that, not yet.

“I didn’t think planning a wedding would make us like this. Is it meant to be this hard?” he asked quietly, unable to find any more anger to put into his words.

“I don’t know, what was it like for you last time?”

“Nice, David.”

“I’m just saying, this wouldn’t be the first engagement that you fucked up.”

He knew just by watching David’s face that he knew he had gone too far; he saw his bottom lip tremble and his eyes suddenly, almost comically, widen with panic. He didn’t see anything else, he turned away before any more of David’s broken expression could be etched into his memory.

“Patrick, I -”

He didn’t hear the rest, the slam of the apartment door was too loud behind him.

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

There’s a crack in the ceiling above Patrick’s bed that David noticed after their fight and discovered that if he stared at it intently it mostly stopped him crying.

Mostly.

He rolled onto his front, turning the blanket into a cocoon as he went, and pushed his face into his pillow. Fighting with Patrick was always the worst thing in the world because, as if it wasn’t bad enough that they yelled and said awful things, he couldn’t even tell his person about it because it was his person that he had been yelling at. They didn’t even do it often, which surprised everyone, including himself; they both held strong opinions and were both stubborn, but their petty squabbles never spiralled into anything more, the Rachel-barbeque-incident had been the only time they had stopped talking or been unsure of their relationship.

But this was infinitely worse than the last one because David didn’t tell Patrick to leave this time, he did it on his own.

Deciding he needed cake or wine or maybe both, he stumbled out of bed and into the kitchen, the blankets a cape around his shoulder as he went. When he opened the fridge and found shelves of Patrick’s favourite things he pouted, but the sight of the black raspberry and dark chocolate ice cream Patrick kept stocked just for David to inhale by the pint sitting next to Patrick’s beer made him have a pathetic little weep into the open fridge.

After grabbing the ice cream and two bottles of beer, he pulled a spoon from the drawer and flopped onto the couch, sending the invitation samples to the floor in his wake. He ate and drank and cried a little until he heard a key in the door, and he turned to see Patrick closing the it behind him.

“Hey,” he croaked, hating the sound of his voice.

“Hey,” Patrick said softly, smiling sadly, sweetly.

“You came back,” he said, hating the tears in his eyes.

“Of course I did,” he said it so simply, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, and David loved him. “I just needed to clear my head for a bit.”

“I don’t know what you know about me would that suggest that I would know that,” he said, looking down at his hands.

“I – okay,” Patrick said behind him, rounding the couch and standing in front of David. “You’ve never done this before.”

“No; people get mad, then leave, and that’s that,” he said, voice small.

“Not me. Hey,” he sat down and waited for David to look at him. “Not me. I’m not going anywhere.”

“I’m sorry,” his voice hitched as he spoke, and Patrick’s hand found his as soon as the words were out.

“Me too, I’m sorry,” he raised David’s hand to his mouth and kissed the back of it, “you’re planning this wedding that’s going to be amazing and I haven’t done a good enough job at appreciating that. I’m sorry.”

“Maybe you would actually know what you’re appreciating if I actually included you in any of the decisions,” he said quietly, finding himself smiling just a little bit.

“That’s very possible,” Patrick said seriously, the side of his mouth quirking the only thing giving away his amusement.

“And I would absolutely listen to what you think because you definitely don’t have bad opinions,” he said quite pointedly, “and you’re not condescending.”

“I am a little.”

“Yeah, and I’m a little spoilt, so there have been some truths tonight,” they laughed together, and it was nice and relieving and so needed.

“Can I kiss you?” Patrick asked him after a minute.

“Yes, please,” he said, already leaning to kiss Patrick, smiling and perfect. “You want to join me in here?” he asked when they parted, lifting the edge of his blanket.

“I do,” Patrick said, “but I need to do something else first,” he knelt on the floor, grabbing the cards that had landed there, and cuddling back into David when he found the two favourites.

“We don’t have to do that now.”

“I want to,” he said, looking between the two samples.

“If you, hmm,” he murmured.

“What?”

“If you want,” he started, grimacing and swallowing hard. “If you want the, uh – If you want the other one …”

“Go on, you can do it.”

“Shut up. If you want the other one, we can use that one,” he said, voice a whisper by the end of his sentence.

“That other one was fucking disgusting.”

“What?”

“Yeah, awful. It looked like the kind of invitation we would use if we were getting married at a Holiday Inn,” he said, enjoying David’s full-body shudder.

“Maybe now would be a good time to remind you that we’ve signed on no dotted lines yet; I can still run.”

“Okay, David,” he said, leaning into him and turning his attention back to the invitations. “I like this one more,” he said, holding up the sleek white invitation with black writing, the one that was already David’s favourite.

“Really?”

“Yeah, I think the writing looks a little like the sign at the store.”

“Oh,” David said dumbly.

“Unless that’s bad for a wedding. The other one’s nice, too.”

“No, that’s why I picked it,” he said, nodding deeply and teary-eyed again. “I just thought maybe you would like the other one, it’s more traditional.”

“It is,” Patrick agreed, smiling sweetly. “But this one is more David Rose, and if that’s an option it’s the one I’ll always choose.”

“Please don’t say nice things to me when I’m in such a delicate state.”

“You deserve nice things.”

“Shh, please; I may not survive.”

“You know I can’t wait, don’t you? Because I can’t,” Patrick kissed him softly after he spoke and when they pulled apart, he was smiling. “I can’t wait to see you in your suit, I can’t wait until I see you walking down the aisle, or I walk to you, whichever way you want.”

“I will walk to you; you have to turn around and watch me, trying to hold back tears.”

“Guaranteed,” Patrick nodded. “I just can’t wait to marry you.”

“I can’t wait to marry you either,” he breathed. This time when Patrick kissed him it wasn’t so soft, it was needy and full of promise, whatever tension that was left easing from the both of them as they held each other. Patrick nipped at David’s bottom lip and grinned, only leaning back far enough to look at him properly.

“Show me your mood board,” he murmured, looking down at David’s lips and knocking their noses together.

“That’s hot, say it again.”

“Show me your mood board, David,” he punctuated each word with a peck to David’s cheek, his chin, his jaw and laughed when David groaned.

“Hm, ‘kay. Wait here,” he said and, with a final kiss, disentangled himself from the blankets and his fiancé’s grabbing hands, and started over to the bedroom.

“Hey,” Patrick said and, when David turned back to look at him, he smiled. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” he said softly and smiled back.

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Later that night, as David rested his head on Patrick’s chest, the sound of his heart soothing, the two of them almost too warm and a little out of breath and officially made up, David trailed his fingers up and down Patrick’s arm, humming quietly.

“I know what song that is,” Patrick told him as he smiled, “and if I can’t sing Taylor Swift in the shower, you certainly can’t hum her songs after sex.”

“I would never,” he scoffed sleepily, angling his head to look up at Patrick. “I think you’re beautiful,” he said suddenly, honestly; he couldn’t even imagine anything more stunning than his fiancé softly illuminated by the warm light from the kitchen. He stopped drawing patterns on Patrick’s arm in favour of gently running his thumb over his bottom lip, wanting to wrap himself up and live in the smile that bloomed there.

“Oh,” he breathed. “I think you’re beautiful, too.”

“I just wanted you to know that I wouldn’t change a thing,” he said more forcefully, and the sweet look on Patrick’s face as he took in the words told him that he understood what David meant.

“I know,” he smiled, squeezing David so tight that he did briefly wonder if Patrick was trying to meld the two of them together. “We’re lucky, aren’t we? That we’re so mutually obsessed with each other.”

“Goodnight, Patrick,” he said, not exactly sure of where he was going, but not loving what the teasing tone and the grin he could feel against his head suggested.

“I left for, like, thirty minutes and you basically ate your weight in ice cream and cried your way through a box of Kleenex.”

“Goodnight, Patrick,” he said again, reaching up to cover Patrick’s mouth with his hand.

“Goodnight, love.”


End file.
